Tachyon's Boot Camp
by RatchetKicksAss44
Summary: What would happen if Tachyon joined the Lombax Praetorian Guard. Strong language and mild violence included


**So I was just bored and decided to come up with a one-shot about what might happen if Tachyon tried to join the Praetorian Guard. Enjoy!**

**Tachyon's Boot Camp**

Location: Fastoon. Time: 0800 hours. The recruits filed in a single, horizontal line, waiting for their platoon leader. This was the one chance they had at getting into the Lombax Praetorian Guard, where they would serve their race for the next or die on the battlefield without a second thought.

"Captain on deck?" A shout pierced the sunny desert morning. The troops stood at attention as their yellow and brown leader walked up to the lombax to the far left. Roll call came as follows:

"Private Miller, reporting, sir!"

"Private Wrigley, reporting, sir!"

The captain moved from Private Miller to Private Wrigley, then he approached a gap in the ranks. He looked down and saw a runty little Cragmite, looking like a centipede with a huge purple head and wearing a uniform that looked specially made. It raised its eyebrows and said, "Private Tachyon, reported for killing!"

"_How did this disgusting thing get in my formation?!_" yelled the captain. _" Say it just like we practiced! How hard is that?"_

"I…peed in my pants a little," said Private Tachyon.

_"How many times are we gonna have to go over this?"_

"Four," came the squeaky reply. Private Wrigley, a red and orange lombax with a scar over his right eye, broke formation.

"I'll work with him, Sarge," he said, before turning to Tachyon. "Where you from, kid?"

"Rykan V."

"Rykan V?"

"OK, Terachnos."

"What are you doing with a name like Tachyon from Rykan V _or _Terachnos?"

"It was the… desert part of Terachnos."

The captain cut into the conversation. _"Drop and give me fifty!"_

"Fifty? Fifty bolts?" asked Tachyon.

_"Fifty _push-ups!" yelled the captain very loudly. _"That's on your face, up and down, up and down!"_

"That's what she said," replied the Cragmite, before attempting a push-up. Straining and straining, he tried, the captain yelling at him.

_"Come on, let's go!"_

Tachyon was straining. The seconds turned into minutes. Finally, "How many was that?"

_"Zero!"_

"Is that in Guardsman numbers?!"

Time: 1000 hours. Shooting practice. Tachyon was one-handing a standard issue AR-300. The instructor, a red and white lombax, started talking.

"Today we're going to learn how to fire the AR-300 assault rifle. Ammo capacity is 300 rounds, weighs twenty pounds, and fires anywhere from 750-900 rounds a minute."

"No wonder the lombaxes beat the Cragmites," said Tachyon. "Your weapons make ours look like slingshots…especially our slingshots."

Ignoring Tachyon's remark, the lombax said, "Aim at your target and try to hit the center."

"Okayyy…" the Cragmite said uncertainly. He put his gun on top of the trench they were standing in. He aimed and pulled the trigger. The force of the shot blew him backwards into the end of the trench.

"Can we have a do-over?" he asked in a pained voice.

Time: 1230 hours. Tachyon sat with a few lombax cadets. They were all perched on top of separate surplus crates with MREs in boxes. As Tachyon tilted his head back (almost toppling over as he did so) and shook the MRE down his throat, he looked a yellow-brown female lombax.

"Private Cross?" he asked from atop his crate.

"Yeah?" she said.

"What exactly is this we are eating?"

"They're meals ready to eat," replied Cross.

"Well, let me tell you, they have better food than this in X2-49. I'm not kidding." They were interrupted by the sergeant yelling at them. Tachyon jumped.

"_Let's go, let's go, let's go!_" The sergeant hollered. All of the lombaxes started grabbing their possessions as their commander yelled at them. Tachyon just sat on his box, looking quite puzzled. He looked around, his head swiveling around with evil eyes wide open.

"What's going on? Is there a war?" he asked urgently to no particular individual. The next thing he saw was the sergeant's face right up close and personal.

"_Well, that includes _you _too, Private Tachyon!_"

"I haven't had dessert!" he said swiftly.

"_You're _done _eating! Now grab your gear and line up with the rest of the formation!"_

"But I always have a nap after lunch," said Tachyon, sinking down onto his crate. Only his head was raised, looking at the sergeant with wide eyes. "And sometimes I have a blanket. Care to join me?"

Time: 1245 hours. Tachyon was straining in the all-too-familiar push-up position. As he remained trembling, trying to get back up into the starting position, he started talking.

"Wow. I have really let myself go," he said in his squeaky voice.

"_Stop your crying!_" yelled the sergeant.

"I am not crying. I am whining. Totally different."

"Come on, you can do it, Tachyon!" said Private Wrigley.

"This may not be the right time to ask, but when do I get the shiny wrench and the pretty white gloves?"

Time: 1300 hours. The troops were at the shooting range once again. But they weren't shooting. They were throwing. Throwing grenades to be exact. The instructor took a grenade from his uniform and held it up.

"This is a standard issue XM-4 energy fragmentation grenade. Pull the pin and hit your dummy." He indicated the dummies that had been set up. Tachyon spoke up.

"So, Coach, we actually _throw_ the explosive?"

"Yes, you're going to throw the grenade."

"We don't strap it to ourselves and run into a crowd of people and then it goes-" He imitated an explosion.

"No, you're going to throw the grenade."

"This makes so much more sense. Wait till the guys back home hear about this!" He turned to his target and threw his grenade. "OOHRAAAAAAAAAAAH!" His glove, however, came off with it.

"Son of a bitch! My arm!" He got out of the trench and ran toward his glove.

"_Tachyon! NO!_"

"I found it!" yelled the dim-witted Cragmite.

"_Tachyon! Watch out!"_

"Huh?" He looked at the grenade. BOOOM! The instructor ran to the crater. Tachyon was lying in the center, ashes covering his face. He groaned.

"Tachyon! Are you okay?" the instructor asked the Cragmite.

"I guess this means I can't be a Guardsman."

Time: 1600 hours. The platoon was lined up in front of Tachyon, saying their final goodbye before he dropped out of the Lombax Praetorian Guard. Tachyon had all of his gear in front of him. He spoke up in his small voice.

"I just wanted to say how fun it was here. And I want to thank Private Cross and Private Wrigley for helping me along the way."

The two lombaxes yelled "Oohrah!" in prefect unison.

"Yes, Oprah. Well, I really didn't have that much to say, so-" Suddenly a tank materialized behind the Cragmite and ran him over without warning. Cries of surprise and disbelief were heard from the lombax ranks, followed by the troops breaking for cover. The tank traveled a further twenty feet, then stopped. The sergeant yelled out to the driver, "Well, holy shit! Who the hell was driving that goddamn thing?"

The top popped open and out came Kaden. He had his arms folded, and he yelled, "I kill _you_, dumbass!"

**I hope many lolz were had. To keep my sense of humor, I just needed to take a break from The Lost Race. Little known fact: Cragmites believe in the art of jihad. Suicide bombers and such. During the Great War, they would bomb lombax cities by strapping C-4 on their chests or by running their planes into innocent plazas. So Tachyon makes a reference to his suicidal roots. I made a military reference when I said "Shiny wrench and pretty white gloves." And my personal favorite surprise in the story: Kaden! He goes back in time and kills the guy who killed him, which is a paradox. Review as to what you think the outcome would be in this paradoxical situation. Would the actions cancel each other out, or whatever. And humor review always helps too.**


End file.
